


Snared

by passcrow



Category: The Hateful Eight (2015)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6482476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passcrow/pseuds/passcrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mobray's death lingered on the other man's conscience like a shadow.  It had paled at his face, darkened his eyes, and snared him up in nightmares that Grouch didn't understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snared

“Hey.” Grouch shifted in the small bed, shivering as he shoved at the blankets that they'd pulled up over themselves hours before. “Pete.” The other man was rolled over towards the opposite side, his entire body tightened as he groaned himself through some kind of nightmare. “C'mon, Little Man, wake up.” Grouch cautiously settled his hand against Pete's hip, fingers spreading on pale skin. In the midst of dreaming the smaller man had worked his way out from under the blankets and he was cold to the touch. Sighing, Grouch glanced across the room towards the fireplace but the fire he'd banked had mostly burned out. “Pete.” The other man shifted under his touch, rolling onto his back and drawing his hands up almost defensively. “Easy.” Grouch tangled their fingers together, tensing when Pete tried to slap out at him, the steady hold of his arm keeping the smaller man from completing the motion.

“Geddof!” Pete flailed his entire body, the sudden movement lifting him from the mattress only to be pinned back down by Grouch's weight. In the pale light that the moon shunted through the half covered window Grouch could see that his eyes were wide open. The muddled color of them swirled and mostly vacant, obviously not asleep but not awake either.

“Jesus, Pete, wake the fuck up.” He dipped closer, trying to get those staring eyes to focus on his face, but lowering his head was a mistake. Pete jolted forward, knocking their foreheads together with a dull cracking sound. As soon as Grouch reared back, both hands going up to his head, Pete scrambled out of the bed. Naked, he backed himself into the corner of the room, his small body tensed and turned protectively inward as he blindly reached to his belt for pistols and knives that weren't there. “Little Man!” Grouch yelled, his voice ringing out in the small room. He was off the bed almost as quickly, broad palms easily catching against Pete's wrists. In one motion he turned Pete into the wall before pulling him back into his chest, muscles tensed but carefully immobilizing. “You're okay.” His voice dropped back to quiet, the gruffed and graveled tone of it pressed directly against the side of Pete's head.

“Grouch?” Pete's entire body relaxed as he spoke, all the fight draining away as he tried to taper back the ramped up pace of his breathing.

“I got you.” Grouch eased his hold slightly but kept the other man tucked back and supported. “You were just dreamin'. 

“Bloody hell.” The groan that rattled Pete's chest was half exhaustion, half embarrassment and he cautiously tugged one hand free to feel at his throbbing forehead. “Y'hit me?” His skin was swollen and hot, a trickle of some moisture, blood or sweat, dribbled into one eyebrow.

“Nope. You brained me, actually.” Grouch shifted them back towards the bed, pressing Pete into the mattress before turning to the fireplace. “You got a damn hard head, Little Man.”

“Tha's what my mum always said, anyway.” Shivering, Pete crawled back into the blankets. He wrapped the thick quilt up over his shoulders, one hand still rubbing at his aching forehead.

“Smart woman, your mom.” Grouch quickly built the fire back up, scraping the darkened ash aside to uncover embers and carefully arranging lengths of wood so they would catch. His breath made the coals glow, and the kindling lit with a pop and a snap, the flames lighting the room with a wavered uncertain light. “Don't worry about it, Pete.” Shifting around, he eyed the way the other man had cocooned himself in faded fabric, mussed almost red hair sticking up in sleep knotted tufts.

“Least I was unarmed, eh?” The smile that turned his lips was false, a disconnect between the arch of his jaw and the still startled wide of his eyes. “Little blessings an' all that.” Grouch shoved himself off the floor with a grunt and paced back to the bed. The mattress dipped when he settled in, turning up onto his knees beside the smaller man.

“I got a thick skull too, Little Man. I'm fine.” Callused fingers ran the other man's jaw, tipping the paled face into the light. “You're leakin' a little bit though.” With his thumb he wiped at the rill of blood that trickled from the already darkening bruise that was swelling just at the other man's hairline. “Dreamin' about Mobray again?”

Pete flinched into the words, eyes flicking up to meet Grouch's before dropping back down. After a breath, he shrugged up agreement and let his head fall back into the headboard. The bigger man's palm ran warmly against the back of his skull, thick fingers scruffing through his hair. “You gotta let it go, Pete.”

“Jus' keep thinkin' about his eyes.” His head throbbed. “Bloody bastard turned around an' asked me to help. Didn't even know I stuck him at first, right?” Pete slumped farther down into the blankets and freed one hand so that he could rub up into his mussed hair. “All confused like. Blood bubblin' up on his lips. Grabbin' at me, all wide eyed.” Grouch hummed lightly and settled back into the mattress so that he could pull the other man into his side. It was a well worn play of words that he'd heard several times before. Mobray's death lingered on the other man's conscience like a shadow. It had paled at his face, darkened his eyes, and snared him up in nightmares that Grouch didn't understand. “Starin' at me, already dead, jus' didn' know it yet.”

“Pete--”

“Blowin' blood, tryin' to breathe. Starin' at me the whole time.” Hicox chewed hard at his lip, head tipped down. “Got a bad feelin' 'bout this one, Grouch.” The smaller man's eyes remained fixed on his hands, on the way his fingers were tangled whitely into the quilt. 

“You always got a bad feelin', Pete. You worry too damn much.” Still moving cautiously, Grouch tipped a thumb into the other man's chin, pulling his lip free from biting teeth.

“And Jody doesn't worry enough.” Pete tipped his head back, his jaw firmed and set. “Knifed a man for no reason, I did.” Underneath the windburned red, Hicox's skin was pale, almost sickly in the casted light from the fire. “Stabbed him in the back like a goddamned coward so's I could rob him of paper an' steal his name, mate.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been able to add to this in a month or so. I'm still looking at it, but I wanted to toss it up, see if anyone liked it.


End file.
